


Camellia Camellia

by kurgaya



Series: Hallucinogenic Gentleman [9]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Banter, Don't Let Tōshirō Play Mario Kart, F/F, Female Ichigo, Female Tōshirō, Fluff, Hilarity Ensues, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 05:45:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3717349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurgaya/pseuds/kurgaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tōshirō Hitsugaya is characterised by pleasantries, a keen understanding of practically <i>everything</i>, and a bright, virtuoso mind. More often than not, she just <i>gets</i> things - maths, quantum mechanics, politics...</p><p>And sometimes she doesn't.</p><p>For example, the social niceties of Mario Kart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Camellia Camellia

**Author's Note:**

> Simply a short, light hearted scene.
> 
> Takes place a few years after Ichigo moves house/they start dating, so she's about... 24? Ish. IDK :)
> 
> This work can also be found on FF.net, livejournal, and tumblr.

 

Ichigo doesn’t even manage to work her key into the lock before the miniature ball of energy that shapes her flatmate rips open the front door and _throws_ herself at the substitute. Luckily, Chihiro isn’t wearing her I’m-in-denial-about-my-height pair of heels, so Ichigo’s feet are saved from misplaced knives as the woman leaps over with an expression of terror.

“Ichigo!” squeals the human, her hug seeming to swallow Ichigo’s entire body, soul, and uncharacteristically good mood as she wraps herself around the ginger, bellowing into the apartment corridor at the top of her lungs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, oh my god I’m so sorry –”

“What? What is it? What’s wrong?” the shinigami blurts, gripping her friend’s teeny shoulders. Chihiro doesn’t appear to be hurt, but that does little to calm Ichigo’s nerves; her reiatsu rolls out like a smog, pouring into the apartment to check for whatever danger has set the human on edge. Has Kouhei been hurt? Has there been an accident? Is there something supernatural going on? _Gods_ , does Ichigo finally have to bumble a way through an explanation about the shinigami? Wasn’t Tōshirō meant to be visiting today? Has something happened to _her_?

Nothing seems amiss inside the apartment – in fact, Tōshirō’s wintry watch, a storm waiting with strikes of lightning and snow, is guarding their home, and the glacial reiatsu of her girlfriend welcomes Ichigo’s fiery touch, coiling around it like a dragon hoarding gold. Yet, there _is_ something off about it (something tempesting and bright and – loud?), but it doesn’t feel like pain or fear or grief, so Ichigo wills her power to cease its blistering search.

Unaware of her flatmate’s abilities, Chihiro continues her tirade. Her frantic blubbering would be entertaining if Ichigo still weren’t in the dark about the cause. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, oh god Ichigo, I’ve done something _terrible_.”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Ichigo says, attempting to soothe her friend. She rubs Chihiro’s shoulders a little awkwardly, still unused to the woman’s boisterous personal bubble despite the years they have known each other. “Whatever it is, we can fix it. Did you break something? Misplaced something? I don’t mind as long as no one is hurt. I’ll forgive you, yeah?”

Warily, Chihiro nods, a puppy seeking assurance for a mistake it has made, but she does not relent her grasp. Growing uncomfortable with being treated like a pillow, Ichigo gently pushes her friend away, hoping that Chihiro understands her intentions and actually _lets her_ into the house. Damage control would be far easier if Ichigo were allowed into the fray, so Ichigo readjusts her backpack and tries to swivel through the doorway. She can deal with whatever the problem is _after_ she has changed out of her work uniform, but before this plan can be executed, a deafening roar rises up from the living room.

It definitely _sounds_ like Kouhei, but Ichigo has never heard him emit such a noise before. Unable to fight back a _what the hell_ expression, she turns to Chihiro for guidance, hoping that there is some reasonable explanation as to why Kouhei is imitating a bear.

Chihiro looks seconds away from fleeing. “I _may_ have suggested that we play on the Wii,” she squeaks, rocking back on her heels. “Tōshirō said she’d never used one before so…”

“Oh my god,” Ichigo mutters, now understanding the calamity that Chihiro has unleased. Tōshirō and technology do not mix well, and by _not well_ Ichigo means _she will literally tear a computer apart until she understands exactly how it functions_. “What _game_?”

“Mario Kart.”

The frantic sounds of controller-smashing follows Kouhei’s second shout of dismay.

“Tōshirō’s really good at it,” Chihiro adds weakly, sounding somewhere between surprised and horrified at the captain’s knack for picking up video game logic. “Oh god, Ichigo, she’s better than _Kouhei_ – what have I done?”

 _Nobody_ is better than Kouhei at Mario Kart.

“What if he never talks to her again?” the terrified human goes on, her voice rising in pitch as Ichigo slips off her shoes and dumps her bag on the ground, clearly attempting to share her freak-out with the calm demeanour of the substitute. “Oh my god _what if he hates her_?”

“Chihiro,” Ichigo says softly, cutting off her friend’s rant. “Relax. You’re overreacting a little –”

A ghastly howl of _noooooooooooo!_ interrupts from the living room.

“Okay,” Ichigo amends. “I take back what I said about forgiving you.”

She rolls up her sleeves and marches into the next room, ignoring Chihiro’s sacrificial sob from the entrance hallway. Kouhei and Tōshirō are seated at opposite ends of the sofa, as far apart as can possibly be, and this is probably due to his _sheer denial_ of Tōshirō’s superior skills and the fact that her reiatsu is currently _buzzing_ with amusement. Kouhei cannot comprehend the otherworldly layer to Tōshirō’s personality, but her entertainment is stark across her face – a gentle twitch of her lips and the brightness of her eyes, almost a childish wonder melting away her strict complexion.

The race has just finished. Ichigo doesn’t even bother checking where Kouhei placed as she swoops down towards her girlfriend, kissing her cheek in greeting. She hopes it will distract Tōshirō long enough to salvage Kouhei’s crumbling self-esteem, but the captain merely tilts into the affection, her eyes glued to the TV.

“Tea would be lovely, thank you,” Tōshirō says as the characters of the next race roll into position.

Ichigo squawks, unable to discern if her partner is _joking_. “I’m not a maid!”

“No, I suppose not,” comes the flat reply, nearly thoughtful in its tone. “Could you possibly put the kettle on for me please? Camomile would be wonderful. Hirabayashi-san might require a cup as well.”

Despite feeling the need to puff out her feathers and insist to her girlfriend that she is _perfectly capable_ of making her own tea, Ichigo glances across the sofa to where her other flatmate is raging silently. It’s a bizarre sight – in all other situations, Kouhei is the embodiment of tranquillity. Ichigo supposes the slight to his manliness is a step too far, and she wonders why it had taken so long.

“He looks like he needs _coffee_.”

“Whiskey perhaps,” says Tōshirō, utterly serious. “He seemed to be under the impression that he was something of an expert at this game, but I can’t imagine why.”

“Modest, aren’t you,” Ichigo deadpans, wincing as Kouhei’s avatar skids from the road and plummets into the oblivion of last place. “Tea, Kouhei?”

Her question cuts off his roar of fury. “No thank you,” he says as politely as one can when they are chewing through their tongue in frustration. “I just –”

Only, he says nothing more, throwing himself back into the race.

“I’d suggest the whiskey,” says Tōshirō. “I’m planning on launching one of those strange blue shells at him when he moves up to first place. He doesn’t like those very much.”

“You’re wicked,” Ichigo says, laughing quietly. With nothing else to say that could save Kouhei from his fate, she disappears into the kitchen before the race turns ugly. Already hiding there nursing a slab of chocolate, Chihiro shoots her a desperate _what happened_ look as the substitute sets about making the tea, but the only thing Ichigo can do is shrug.

Kouhei’s bellow of **_BLUUUEEE –!!!_** says it all, really.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment as you go~


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